


Finding Home

by Salambo06



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, France - Freeform, French Sherlock, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Holiday, M/M, minor case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-05-29 17:49:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6386191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John had agreed to follow Harry to a vacation in the south of France, he never expected to meet the most interesting man, one Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Heather](http://snogbox1.tumblr.com/) for her job as a beta !  
> Enjoy !
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> [My Tumblr](http://letthechoirsing.tumblr.com/)

John looks sternly at the different suitcases on the luggage carrousel and tries his best not to sigh in impatience again. Harry is waiting by his side, a radiant smile on her face and playing with her purse as she looks for her own suitcase. The flight hadn’t been long, and honestly, John had known worse, but Harry had squirmed and gotten up every ten minutes. He wasn’t lying when he admitted to himself that he was looking forward to being alone. His own room, his own bed and most importantly, peace. He hadn’t been very enthusiastic about this vacation but John realises he actually is glad to be away from London. He loved the city, yes, but limping his way into coffee shops and pubs wasn’t exactly what he had thought going back to civilian life would be like. Just like crashing his big sister’s couch for the past three months.

Harry is nice and John can tell she is trying to get over her addiction, but they’ve never had a warm and comfortable relationship. Three months is a long time, a really long time when you think of bills, food and spending most of your time with your sibling. Especially when you’re old enough to live on your own. So yes, this vacation still means he has to spend two more months in Harry’s company, but it also means no cooking, cleaning or worrying about daily life problems, and John is perfectly happy to take a break.

“Oh, here they are!” Harry exclaims. John follows her as she hurries toward their luggage. “Why did you have to take your army backpack?”

“It’s the only baggage I have.” John defends himself, throwing it over his shoulder and readjusting his cane so he won’t hurt too much.

“It’s old and ugly.” Harry points out.

“We should go grab a taxi,” John says, cutting their conversation short. Harry shakes her head before following him.

“God, everyone is speaking french.”

John listens to Harry’s complain as they make their way to the exit and he can’t help but smile as he responds, “You did choose to go to France, you know.”

Harry shrugs and takes her phone out of her bag, “I don’t even speak French.”

“Once again,” John repeats, “your choice.”

It’s been years since John had last been to France, and he only has fleeting memories of his parents at the beach with Harry throwing sand at him. He had been too little to properly understand he was in a different country. A man from his regiment back in Afghanistan had lived in France for years, and John can still hear his curses in rapid French during sudden attacks and lost bets. John smiles but quickly looks away when he catches Harry looking at him. He doesn’t need her to start asking questions. Not again.

They find a cab immediately and the driver takes care of their luggage. Harry takes out the paper with their “Maison d’hôte” address and promptly gives it to the driver.

“Vous venez d’où!” He smiles and Harry frowns, looking back at John.

He tries to remember his French class back in school, and responds,“Nous être anglais.” His accent, he notes, is frankly terrible.

“English!” The driver exclaims, “My wife is from England!”

John nods, relieved he won’t have to suffer his way through French and they all get in the cab. “It should take thirty minutes,” the driver explains, “nice place you chose!”

Apparently happy to have found someone to talk to, Harry proceeds to explain in great detail the reason they are here. John rests his head against the window and closes his eyes. Ever since she has stopped drinking, Harry has became much more open to others and never shuts up when given the opportunity to speak to new people. It reminds John of his childhood sometimes, of their family dinners, but after three months, John can’t wait to enjoy some silence.

“John, John! Wake up!”

John startles awake, Harry’s hand is shaking his bad shoulder and her voice is way too close. “We’re here!”

She gets out and John suppresses a yawn before following her. Only then does he really take in the landscape around him. Mountains, meadows, bright sunlight and endless forests. Absolutely beautiful. John stands still, inhales deeply and thinks Yes, this was a good idea.

“John! Some help would be nice!”

John looks back at Harry, trying to carry his backpack and goes to help her. She pays the driver and hurries to join him at the impressively huge gate in front of the house. From what John had understood, they were staying in what the French called “Maison d’hôte”, a place where people chose to open their house for guests. Harry had told him they will each have their own room and need to eat breakfast, lunch and supper with the owner and other guests. It was supposed to be warm and friendly. A place where you meet new people, Harry had said over and over, trying to convince him.

The thing is, John isn’t sure he wants to meet new people.

“Bonjour!”

John jumps with surprise and almost drops Harry’s suitcase. An older woman is walking towards them, her arms open, a warm smile on her lips.

“Bienvenue,” she says when she’s close enough.

“Thank you,” John answers and the woman laughs.

“Oh forgive me, after living too long in another country, I forgot my own native language!” She smiles at them and repeats, “Welcome! My name is Violet.”

“I’m Harry, and this is my brother John,” Harry replies, “We have a reservation under Watson.”

“Oh yes, for two whole months right?”

Harry nods. “Let me take you to your room, then I can show you the house.”

Once again, John is stricken by the beauty of the house, all done up in whites and reds, with large windows and wooden doors. “You have a beautiful house,” Harry says and Violet thanks her. She begins to explain how long they’ve lived here, but John isn’t listening. The need to lie down is getting stronger and stronger, and he’s sure he will hear about the house many times during the next two months.

“Alright, so John’s room is right up these stairs.” Violets declares once they’re inside, pointing upstairs and giving John his key, “Harry, yours is down this hallway. If there is any problem, don’t hesitate to tell me.”

“Will do.” Harry says as she takes her key.

“My husband and I will be in the garden, when you’re ready. We’ll get you registered then and have some snacks, I’m sure you must be hungry.”

“Yes, thank you.” John responds and he picks up his backpack.

Harry is already walking to her room and John smiles at Violet one last time before heading up the stairs. They are several doors in the hallway, but only one is closed and John hurries to get inside. He’s surprised to find a large but simple room, one big bed and a wardrobe. He throws his stuff on the bed and goes to check his private bathroom. That had been one of John’s conditions for this holiday. The shower seems nice, large enough for two actually, and John considers taking a quick shower before going back downstairs. Maybe later. He goes back to the room and opens the window. Looking down, he sees Violet with two other men, talking. The garden is huge with a forest in the background. John smiles as he spots the pool. Harry had been dreaming of this pool for the last four months.

“Sherlock!” Violet suddenly yells, startling John, “Where have you been? And what happened to your clothes?”

A man is walking towards the house, covered in mud and grass. John takes a step back, not wanting to be seen but keeps an eye on the man as he approaches.

“A sheep attacked me.”

“You mean that you fell.” A another voice remarks, mocking.

“Shut up Mycroft.”

“Boys, language!” Violet, this time. “Sherlock, go change, some guests arrived and I don’t want to imagine what they’ll think if they see you like this.”

“Why should I care what your guests think of me?”

John can’t see them anymore but he can easily picture what’s happening outside. “Sherlock, you will take a shower and come back to greet our guests. That’s not an option.”

“Vivement que ces stupides vacances se terminent!” The man exclaims and soon they start speaking in only French. John listens absently for a moment, trying to imagine what Violet and this Sherlock are talking about. When the conversation stops after one last yelled “Sherlock”, John goes to unpack his backpack quickly. Strangely, he finds himself looking forward to meeting the rest of Violet’s family.

But when he arrives downstairs, only Violet and her husband are there, cake and orange juice on the table. Harry is looking at the garden and she turns around when she hears him.

“Ah John, this is my husband, Bernard.” Violet says.

“Nice to meet you, John.” Bernard smiles as he shakes John’s hand, “I hope the room was alright?”

“Perfect.” John replies and sits down.

“I have all the papers for your stay,” Violet announces, “We can deal with it later if you want?”

“No,” Harry intervenes, “Let’s get rid of that now, and enjoy our vacation.”

“I like this spirit!” Bernard laughs.

They sign and agree on the condition of their stay for the next two months, and Violet explains one more time the house rules. “You are allowed to do everything you would do in your own house.” She smiles, “Basic human rules are to be respected, and I’m sure there won’t any problem. Breakfast, lunch and dinner are served in the dining room or outside, and the times and menus are at your disposal in your room. If you want to go out to eat, just tell us so we don’t make too much food. The whole house is open to guests. My family and I live in the second house over there.” She points at a smaller house in the garden. “If there is any problem, you can find us there.”

“Your family?” Harry inquires, and John leans closer, resting his elbow on the table. He had thought he’d meet Violet’s sons by now.

“Yes,” Bernard replies, “Our two sons are here for the summer vacation. It’s been awhile since they’ve come actually.” He smiles but looks away.

“They were here earlier,” Violet explains, “but I’m sure you’ll see them at dinner.”

Harry nods, “How many guests will be staying here this summer?”

“Well, you two are the only ones staying the entire summer. Three couples are coming for one or two weeks, and a family will arrive next week and stay an entire month. Actually, they will be the only other group speaking English as well.”

Harry laughs, “We will have someone to talk to then!”

John smiles as Violet tries to convince Harry she could use these two months to start learning French. She always sucked at language, but maybe he could.

“Is it alright if I take a look at the garden?” he asks after a moment.

“Yes, of course. There is a path so you shouldn’t have any trouble with your cane.” Violet smiles. John clenches his fist, catching Harry’s glance.

“I’m sure I can manage.” He replies, maybe a bit too bitterly and gets up.

He walks until the laughter and conversation dies out. He gets a closer look at the pool, and notes the Jacuzzi not far away. There’s also some chairs and benches, a garden filled with potatoes and tomatoes, and what appear to be beehives. John decides to explore the attached forest, and rolls up his sleeves before heading to the nearest path. He walks for as long as he can, ignoring the slight pain in his leg until the moment it becomes impossible to take another step. He finds a bench and sits, catching his breath and massaging his leg lightly.

“There you are!”

John jumps at Harry’s voice as she comes to sit beside him, “I was looking for you.”

“Why?”

“You know why.” She replies and John closes his eyes. He won’t be engaging in this conversation again.

“What time is it?” He asks.

“Time for dinner actually. Violet and Bernard are waiting for us.”

“Tell them I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“John, are you-”

“I’m fine.” John snaps and regrets it immediately. “I’m fine. I just need to sit for a moment, but you can go.”

“Alright,” she stands up, “you have your phone with you?”

“Harry, go.”

She stares at him for a second and walks back with a sigh.

When John finally makes it back, everyone is already at the table, and clearly waiting for him. He sits down and apologizes but Violet assures him they just sat down. One of her sons is sitting next to her, but John doesn’t see the dark curls he’d caught sight of earlier.

“John, this is Mycroft, our older son.” Bernard introduces them before glancing at the empty chair next to him. “It seems that Sherlock is not hungry.”

“Probably sulking,” Mycroft comments.

_Sulking?_

“Mycroft, be nice” Violet says under her breath and Mycroft smiles at her.

A perfect forced smile, John remarks. Mycroft turns to face him, “Nice to meet you Mr. Watson.”

John frowns at the _Mr._ but catches Harry’s wink, and he replies politely, “Nice to meet you too.”

“Mother told me you’re a soldier,” Mycroft continues, the same polite smile on his lips.

“I was,” John replies, wondering how much Harry had managed to tell Violet in only one afternoon. “Army doctor.”

“You must have seen horrible things,” Violet says, her hand covering her heart.

“I have.”

“John is a wonderful doctor,” Harry suddenly exclaims, “He will find a clinic and start saving lives again in no time. Our mum was a nurse actually, so we grew up taking care of others.”

“Oh, that’s nice. What was your father’s job?” Bernard asks and Harry happily continues her explanations, kicking John’s foot under the table.

He knows she’s doing it for him. In her own way, Harry had always took care of him, making sure to draw people’s attention elsewhere when she knew the conversation could trigger him. She wasn’t always the perfect sister, but at this very moment, John is glad she here.

The rest of the dinner passes quickly and John mostly listens to Violet, Harry and Bernard talking. He tries not to look at the empty place and chair too much, but can’t help but wonder who this mysterious younger brother is. It’s stupid, really, but he would have liked to ask him what he had done for a sheep to attack him.

 

~ ~

A week passed and John slowly got used to living with ten other people, surprised by how much different it was from the army. A couple had arrived the day after them, and yesterday it was the English family’s turn to join them. John had to admit, it isn’t as awful as he had expected. He had taken the habit of walking to the forest every time he needed some time alone, and usually Harry gave him the space he needed. Violet and Bernard are the most perfect hosts you could dream of, and not once has John had to complain about anything. He doesn’t see Mycroft much, except for dinners but that was already enough. The man has a way of looking at you, as if he could see your darkest secret and then smiles, letting you know that _he knows._

The chair next to Bernard still remains empty.

Two weeks into his holiday, John is taking his usual walk when he notices Archie, the young kid from Scotland, kneeling on the ground. He makes his way towards him, branches crackling under his cane and Archies jumps to his feet, “You scared me!”

“Sorry Archie,” John smiles as he stops next to him, “What are you doing?”

“It’s for Mr. Holmes!” Archies exclaims, looking down at some strings and brushwood at his feet.

“Mycroft?” John frowns, he doesn’t remember seeing the two of them talking since Archie arrived.

“No, Sherlock.” Archies corrects him, “I’m trying to catch field mice for his experiment. It’s my job.” He announces proudly.

John has too many questions at the time for the seven-year-old, and he inhales deeply before asking, “Field mice?”

“Yes, Mister Holmes says he needs some to test his experiment but he can’t catch them!” Archie is kneeling again and John drops his cane on the ground to imitate him.

“What kind of experiment does Mister Holmes do?”

“I didn’t understand everything,” Archie replies, looking a bit disappointed, “but Mister Holmes said he’ll explain it to me again once he’s done. So I help him!”

“Does he know you’re here, helping him?”

“Yes, he said my help was crucial!” Archie replies proudly before looking down again, “but I don’t know how to make a functioning trap.”

“My dad taught me once, when we were hiking.” John says and winks at Archie when he looks back up, “I can help you if you want.”

“Really? Thank you John!”

“Alright,” John says with a smile, “first, we need to find some branches.”

Almost one hour later they have set up three different traps and Archie is practically jumping with anticipation. John had told him several times that they will have to wait until morning to see if they catch anything, but it hasn’t killed Archie’s joy. John had tried to get more information about Sherlock, but Archie only said that he talked about murder and experiments all the time. John is beginning to worry about Archie hanging out with this Sherlock fellow.

“I’m going to tell Mister Holmes!” Archie suddenly declares and before John can say anything, he runs off towards the house.

When John makes it back, Archie is nowhere to be seen and his parents have no idea where he is. They don’t seem worried and John considers for a moment telling them about the field mice and Sherlock but he keeps his mouth shut. Archie seems happy, and John only needs to keep a careful eye on him. Maybe tomorrow he could ask Archie where Sherlock does his experiment and finally meet the man. Violet and Bernard barely talk about him, only at dinner in order to apologize for his behavior. But even then, they don’t seem surprised that their son apparently never eats. Mycroft mentioned his name once or twice, but always to mock him and John had learned not to trust a single word coming out of Mycroft’s mouth. He’ll make his own opinion about this Sherlock. _If I ever see him._

Archie doesn’t talk about their trap during dinner so John assumes he didn’t tell anyone else about it. They eat quickly for once, some of the guests going out in town (Harry included) so John is able to lock himself in his room around 10pm. He takes his time in the shower, enjoying the refreshing cold water. He didn’t expect the weather to be so hot all day. Harry goes swimming every day, but John still hasn’t let himself enjoy the pool. He knows too well how scars attract people’s stares.

John turns off the shower and reaches for his towel. He dries himself, trying not to think about the damaged skin on his shoulder. He had spent too much time thinking about it already, and he had promised Harry to try to forget about the war and its consequences during their holiday. John is not sure she will ever understand what it feels to be broken and damaged. She wants him to be better and the least he can do is to try. Yet, as he puts his pants and T-shirt on, John avoids his own reflection in the bathroom mirror.

He slips under the covers, turns off the light and closes his eyes. He knows he won’t find sleep right away. He never does. But tonight John doesn’t think about his men still fighting in the desert, or the cane resting against the chair next to him. No, tonight John can’t think about anything else but Archie’s description of Sherlock Holmes. During the hour spent together, John had learned that the younger Holmes was “strange”, “always talking too fast”, “cool” and showing pictures of dead bodies to a young boy. It isn’t much, but John can’t help but smile. Archie had been radiant with joy as they made their trap. He talked about Sherlock with admiration, and surely the man must be interesting to hold a kid’s attention like that.

Maybe he could ask Violet about him. He had wanted to for the last few days but didn’t find the time, or courage to do so. The subject of their younger son seems to be difficult, or at least avoided. But surely Violet would answer his questions, the need to please her guest too strong to resist. _Yes, tomorrow._

The sound of his window opening wakes John up. He cracks open one eye but his entire body is already on alert. He could use his cane to defend himself, and the door is not far away. Archie’s parents are sleeping in the room facing his. Just as he begins pushing the covers away silently, a deep voice resonates in his room.  
“You’ve helped him.”


	2. Chapter 2

John reaches for his bedside lamp and turns the light on. Just as he thought, Sherlock Holmes is standing by his bed, a long dark coat hanging open and his eyes fixed on John.

“What are you doing here?” John asks, his voice still full with sleep as he sits on his bed to face him.

“Archie, you’ve helped him today.”

John frowns, “Yes.”

“Why?”

Sherlock is not moving, his stare starting to make John uncomfortable, but he keeps his own eyes fixed on him.

“He wanted to set up some traps, I knew how to make them, so I helped.” John pauses, eyeing Sherlock carefully before asking again, “why are you in my room?”

Sherlock doesn't respond but walks to the door, unlocks it and looks back. First at John, then at his cane and back to him again. For a moment John thinks he sees a smile on Sherlock’s lips but the moment passes too quickly.

“Interesting” he murmurs, and in a blink, he’s gone.

_Well, I won't fall back asleep after that!_

John locks his door again, checking the hallway first. Nothing. He lies back in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, his hands clasped on his stomach and smiles. Somehow, he's certain it won't be long until Sherlock Holmes makes another appearance.

Yet, it is a complete surprise to find Sherlock sitting at the table at diner the very next day. He’s staring down at his plate when John arrives, playing with his food. Next to him, Violet’s smile could light up the room. John sits down, trying not to stare at Sherlock but realising he’s failed miserably when he catches Harry’s wondering eyes. John shrugs, sipping at his drink and decides he’ll avoid Harry for the next few days. It shouldn’t be too difficult anyway, she always seems to be busy.

“Everyone’s here, let's eat!” Bernard declares, and soon the usual noise of multiple conversations fills the room.

John tries to concentrate on what Marc is saying next to him, something about the site he visited with his girlfriend yesterday, but his accent is awful so John just nods and smiles politely. Sherlock still hasn't said a word. He doesn't even look up from his plate. John wishes he had come down sooner, maybe he could have sat next to him. But then what? Ask him why he climbed through his window the night before? What he needs field mice for? Where the hell he spends his day?

“John, can you pass me the salt?” Violet asks, forcing John back to reality.

“Yes, sure.” He hands it to her and notices Sherlock staring at him. It still feels as if the man’s eyes are reading all of his secrets.

“I don't think you've met Sherlock, right John?” Violet continues.

“Actually, I-”

“Your limp is psychosomatic.” Sherlock states, his hands crossed under his chin. The food on his plate remains untouched.

“Sherlock!” Violet's exclaims.

“How-” John mumbles at the same time.

“You were shot in the shoulder, clean wound, barely hurts anymore.” Sherlock continues, ignoring his mother’s murderous stare. “Yet you're using a cane, the pain only existing in your mind. Your therapist thinks so too but she doesn't think you're ready to hear it. But you know it’s true. Yet, you still can't walk without your cane. Interesting.”

John wants to make sure no one is listening, or at least deny Sherlock’s assumptions publicly, but he can't take his eyes off him.

“It's obvious that you hate it. You keep your cane under the table, where you can forget it even exists. Even in your room, it rests where you can't see it, behind a chair but always within your reach.”

“Sherlock,” Bernard cuts in, “ we told you to stay out of the guests’ rooms!”

“The cane is old,” Sherlock continues, ignoring his father entirely, “someone gave it to you, someone who thought they were helping you. It was your grandfather’s. An old man. A cripple.” Sherlock stops, glancing at John’s clenched fists on the table, “You can't bear the idea of using it, and it keeps you from the obvious solution of your problem.”

John inhales deeply. Sherlock is still staring at him.

“That was-” John begins, trying to regulate his heartbeat, but Sherlock stands up abruptly and leaves the table.

“I'm so sorry, John,” Violet apologizes. “He doesn't know how to keep these things to himself.”

John shakes his head, “it's alright.”

The conversations are still going on, no one having paid attention to them. Even Harry is oblivious to Sherlock’s little speech. John looks back at his plate. He's not hungry anymore. He wants to go to bed and wait for Sherlock to climb through his window.

_That was amazing._

Did he really manage to know all this about in the little time they met? He has been in his bedroom for less than ten minutes, and their whole conversation lasted even less than that. Did he talk to Harry? No. He never talked about this with her. He’s not even sure he’d talked about this with his therapist. Ella is nice, and John truly believes she wants the best for him, but there are some things he just can’t say.

Yet, Sherlock Holmes seems to have understand it all.

“John, are you finished?”

John’s head snaps up. Violet is watching him, as well as the rest of the table. She must have called his name several times. “Yes, sorry.” He replies, handing her his plate and avoiding Harry’s eyes.

“I’m really sorry about Sherlock,” she adds when they are all leaving the table.

“He didn’t say anything wrong.”

“Still, I know how upsetting it can be. We’ve told him many times to keep these things to himself, but he rarely listens to anything we say.”

She’s smiling, and John knows she must have apologised for her son’s behavior time and time before.

“Don’t worry Violet, it’s fine.” He reassures her, grabbing his cane. “I think I’ll head back to my room, have a good night sleep.”

“So early?” she asks, “We have a game night planned!”

“I’m knackered, really.”

“Alright, maybe tomorrow night?”

John nods before saying his goodbyes to her and Bernard, still cleaning the table. He’s only just left the room when he hears them.

“Pauvre John.” _(Poor John)_

It’s Violet.

“Tu as vu comment Sherlock le regardait?” _(Have you noticed the way Sherlock was looking at him?)_

Bernard now, but John doesn’t linger. It’s not as if he could understand anything anyway. His room is quiet, maybe too quiet. He makes a quick work of his clothes, and showers before sliding into bed. He lies awake for a long time. No one comes.

 

~ ~

“John! Come swim with me!” Harry calls, already in the outdoor swimming pool.

“Maybe another time,” he responds with a smile.

“You’re no fun!” She exclaims but John ignores her.

He needs to clear his mind, think of something else but Sherlock’s disappearance. For two days, John has searched everywhere, going through every room and the entire garden, but never managed to find Sherlock. He had asked Violet and Bernard but they seemed oblivious to their son’s whereabouts. John had come to dinner, short of breath and high of hopes, but Sherlock’s chair remained empty. Even Archie hadn’t seen him.

_I’m being ridiculous._

He needs to stop. He doesn’t know this man, and clearly Sherlock doesn’t want to be known. It doesn’t matter how much of an impression Sherlock has made on him. John is here to enjoy his summer, and he intends to do so.

A good walk will be nice. John tries to walk through the forest every day, preferably alone. Some days Archie comes with him, and John slowly learns more and more about the mysterious Sherlock Holmes. Once Harry had asked to come, and strangely they had remained silent during the entire time. John needs to stop trying to understand what might pass through Harry’s head sometimes, but it had been a nice walk.

But today, he needs to be alone.

“Ah, John! Good thing you're here! Need your help!”

John nearly tumbles over, leaning on his cane for support as Sherlock Holmes suddenly passes before him, running into the forest without even glancing at him.

“Wh-”

“Could be dangerous!” John hears him yell, having already lost sight of him.

Before John can properly consider his options, he’s running after him. There are branches all over the ground, too many trees and Sherlock is nowhere to be seen. _He went straight ahead._ John avoids a fallen tree, jumping over it and exhales loudly as he increases his speed.

“He’s here!”

Sherlock’s voice again, closer than he thought. John runs towards him, catching sight of dark hair to his left.

“Sherlock?!”

“This way!”

_What is ha-_

“He’s getting away, hurry up John!”

His lungs are burning, his legs moving on their own and John wants to laugh. How long has it been since he ran? He doesn't even know who he’s chasing, or what the fuck is happening, but he doesn't care. He’s running.

Finally he’s catching up, Sherlock just in front of him. He’s wearing a suit, a suit, and seems to know the forest by heart, avoiding every obstacle easily. He doesn't look back.

“Come on!”

John hurries, not sure he can go faster but soon he’s running side by side with him. Sherlock’s eyes are searching for the unknown, but somehow John trusts him. He runs with him, chasing some mysterious danger, and feels like he could do this for hours.

“He’s gone.” Sherlock suddenly declares, stopping dead and John nearly falls to the ground. “Maybe next time.”

“What was that?” John asks, catching his breath.

“A deer.”

John stares at him, feeling his lips stretch into a smile, “We were chasing a deer?”

“That's what I said.”

“You said it could be dangerous!”

“Could have been.” Sherlock responds, finally looking at John.

“That was-” He burst out of laugher, “Why chasing a deer?”

“I need one for an experiment.” Sherlock explains, eyes still fixed on him.

“And what was your plan? Catching him and then what?”

“I would have figured out something.” Sherlock mutters and John laughs again, this time catching Sherlock smiling too.

“Good thing he got away then, because it would have truly been dangerous!”

The sound of John’s laughter and both of their ragged breathing is filling the woods. John begins to realise he’s standing in front of Sherlock, after running after a deer and he has no idea what to do next.

“I don't even know where we are.” He finally says, looking around.

“Good thing I do.” Sherlock smirks, and John is laughing again.

“Yes, good thing you do.”

They stay silent for a moment, John looking everywhere but at Sherlock but feeling the man’s eyes on him. He wants to say something, ask about the experiment maybe or if he really thought he could catch a deer by himself. John has so many questions, but the silence stretches for a little longer and strangely it doesn't feel awkward.

“So, which way?” He finally asks, looking back at Sherlock.

He isn't smiling anymore but his face isn't closed off, or at least not the way it was that night in John’s bedroom. He stays silent for another second or two before nodding toward the West.

“The house is less than 500 meters away.”

“That can't be,” John frowns, “we ran for at least 15 minutes.”

“We ran in a circle.” Sherlock states, taking a step and John hurries to walk by his side.

“In a circle?”

“Don't ask me, I just followed the deer.” Sherlock defends himself quickly and John smiles.

“Alright.” He concedes. Maybe now will be the time for him to ask why Sherlock had climbed into his bedroom. He had less than two minutes before they arrive back at the house and Sherlock disappears again.

“Sherlock, why did y-”

“John?! Is that you?”

Harry.

“John?!”

“We’re here.” He calls and she arrives, eyes wide and breath short.

“Where were you?!”

“Sherlock needed help so I-”

“I was worried sick,” she cuts in, “I found your cane and you weren't there so I went to look for you but-”

John isn't listening anymore. His cane. He doesn't have his cane anymore. Taking a deep breath, John braces himself for the sudden pain, the aching reminder that he’s broken and doesn't have any support. He waits and nothing comes.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Sorry, I-”

“He doesn't need a cane anymore.” Sherlock intervenes.

“Doesn't need a cane anymore?” Harry repeats, looking at Sherlock for the first time since she arrived. “And what are you doing here?”

Sherlock doesn't respond, his eyes focusing on Harry.

“I told you, I was helping Sherlock.”

“Well, I was worried!”

“And I'm fine!” John says again, “Can we go back now?” He turns, “Sherlock, are you-”

Gone. Again.

“What a weirdo.” Harry mutters, looking around her. “So, do you need it or not?”

She’s handing him his cane, waiting.

“No,” John smiles, “I don't.”

Harry walks away with a sigh and John takes a moment before following her. He searches the woods around him, trying to catch sight of a dark mop of curls. John can still feel his heart beating too fast. He doesn't remember the last time he had run like that. Did Sherlock Holmes just cure his limp?

“John!”

It's Harry again and John hurries to join her, “Yes, yes, I'm coming.”

_Let him be at dinner tonight._

John busies himself with a book about some mysterious murder and a broken detective, but he can't stop looking at the clock. If he goes now, he could help Violet set the table. She’d like it, but more importantly, John could make sure to sit next to Sherlock if he decides to join them.

Violet is thrilled to see him walk without his cane. She fusses and tells him about the many hikes he can now do in the area while they get the table ready. None of the guest are here yet, and when Bernard join them, Mycroft is accompanying him.

“John,” he greets, “how are you today?”

He looks down at his leg before smiling, sending a thrill of discomfort down John’s spine.

“I'm fine, and you?” John answers politely.

“It was an enjoyable day.”

“You spent the entire day in your office, Myc!” Violet complains, resting a hand on her son’s shoulder.

“I had to, mother.” Mycroft replies before adding, “Et s’il te plaît, ne parle pas de mon travail avec les invités.” _(And please, don’t mention my work around the guests)_

“Je sais Mycroft, je sais.” _(I know Mycroft, I know)_

She turns to John again, “Sorry, Mycroft is very private about certain things.” She smiles and hands him another plate, “let's finish the table before everyone arrives!”

Surprisingly, Sherlock is the first to arrive. John barely stops himself from throwing himself at the chair next to him, and walks slowly to it. He feels both Mycroft’s and Violet’s eyes on him as he sits. Sherlock doesn't seem to have noticed him yet.

_Hey, remember me? You came to my room at night, deduced my hate for my limp and then proceed to cure it._

_What kind of experiment did you need a deer for?_

_And the field mice?_

_I'd like to know you better, is that okay with you?_

“I didn't thank you for-” John finally finds the courage to begin but Sherlock turns to him and knocks the words right out of him.

“You didn't want to come here.” He says seriously, maybe too seriously, even, “You only came for your sister, because of her addiction. She needs help and you want to support her. Yet, she believes she is helping you by coming here.”

“Let's say it's a mutual thing then.” John offers but Sherlock smirks at him, his eyes traveling over his face just like Mycroft’s did not ten minutes ago. Strangely, this time John only feels impatience at what the man has to say next.

“You don't have an addiction, or let's say, a proper one. She does. This vacation is clearly more beneficial for her than for you.”

“I don't have an addiction at all.” John defends himself.

“I said “dangerous” and you came running,” Sherlock smiles.

“It has nothing to do with addiction.”

Sherlock stays silent for a second, “You enlisted for the army as a doctor but managed to get discharged home because of a bullet wound. You went to the front line, asked to be assigned in the most dangerous area. You hate being at the camp, safe and secured. You wanted the endless doubt, the constant vigilance, the emergency.”

“That's where they needed me.” John tries to explain, but Sherlock continues as if he didn't speak at all.

“It's what you love, the danger, the thrill. And then you came back to London, and you hated it even more than before. You now know what happens over there. What you could be doing, who you could be saving. It keeps you awake at night, staring at the ceiling or the cane resting by your bed. But one chase in the woods, running without knowing why, was all it took to make you forget about the pain in your leg.” He stops, but gives no time for John to say anything. “You were aching for some action again, and a 15 minute chase gave you the fix you needed.”

Sherlock stares at him for a moment, John trying to process what he has just heard. Just as Sherlock looks away, playing with his fork, John finds his breath.

“That was amazing,” he lets out, “absolutely amazing.”

If anything, his words earn John another glance from Sherlock, surprised.

“You think so?”

“Yes, I have no bloody idea how you did that, but, well, I can't exactly say it's all wrong.”

Sherlock turns to him again, still looking confused but with the beginning of a smile forming at his lips, “That’s not what people usually say.”

“And what do they s-”

“Sherlock, how nice of you to join us.”

Mycroft comes to sit with them, the same annoying smile on his lips.

“Mycroft.” He simply says, his face blank again.

“Encore en train d’ennuyer nos invités?” _(still boring our guest?)_

“Ce ne sont pas nos invités à ce que je sache.” _(They aren’t OUR guest)_

“Laisse donc ce pauvre docteur tranquille.” _(Just leave that poor doctor alone)_

Mycroft looks at him before focusing back on Sherlock.

“Je n’ennui personne.” Sherlock sounds annoyed now. _(I’m not boring anyone)_

“Chercherais-tu te de faire des amis, Sherlock?” _(Are you trying to make some friends, Sherlock?)_

“Va te faire foutre, mon cher frère.” Sherlock spits out and John doesn't have any trouble imagining what he might be saying. _(Go to hell, brother dear)_

“Boys! Language!” Violet asserts as she sits down. “Our guests will arrive and I won't have the two of you arguing during dinner.”

“I'm not hungry anyway.” Sherlock declares as he stands up.

“Sherlock, please.” Violets tries to call, but he’s already long gone.

At this very moment, John really hates Mycroft Holmes.


	3. Chapter 3

The next few days John finds himself meeting Sherlock in the most strangest places and unexpected moments. Most of the time Sherlock appears out of nowhere, asking about some rare liver disease or the weather in the desert during winter nights, and John has already broken two different glasses in surprise. Now, he waits for these moments all day. Sherlock never acts the same way twice. Usually he stays for less than a minute, walking away as soon as he gets his answer. But sometimes he sits and talks with John for a long while, asking question after question until he storms off, mumbling about something John just said.

He’s like nothing John has ever known. Absolutely mad, talking way too much about murder and decomposition of human bodies but John wouldn’t dream of anything else. He sometimes starts talking in French for no obvious reason and stops only when he notices John staring at him, and then starts all over again in English. Sometimes he’s asking for John’s advice and point of view, and John feels important for the briefest moment. Sherlock listens, nods and even writes some of John’s explanations down. John tries not to expect too much. He knows Sherlock is only taking interest in his experience as a doctor, it has nothing to do with him. So he takes every opportunity he can and hopes Sherlock’s interest will last as long as possible.

He’d also started to come to dinner more often, but only when Mycroft isn’t there. Even when John arrives late, the chair next to Sherlock is always free and clearly waiting for him. John catches Violet’s smile every time he takes his seat, Sherlock barely waiting before starting to explain his latest experiment or just to continue a previous conversation. John both loves and resents dinner. He likes to have someone to talk to, especially Sherlock with his bad manners and grand gestures, threatening to break every dish on the table. But he also hates the stares every time Sherlock mentions a crime scene, or the pig ears in his fridge. He doesn’t like the way Harry looks at him when he bursts out in laughter at one of Sherlock’s comments, or when he simply can’t manage to hide the excitement on his face while he listens to one of Sherlock’s stories. He prefers the moments they spend alone, when he can ask all the questions he wants and not care about who might hear. Sherlock, for sure, isn’t even aware of the other guests around the table.

John doesn’t allow himself to hope for too much. He needs to enjoy their conversations while they last. He goes to bed every night, making sure his window isn’t locked (“it’s not a lock that will keep me out, John”) in case Sherlock decides to pay a nocturnal visit, and lies awake, waiting. It’s only been three weeks since John has arrived here, one week since the chase in the woods, and already Sherlock has become the most enjoyable part of John’s holiday. He needs to be careful. Harry will notice at some point. God, Sherlock will notice. He needs to be in control. Everything will be fine.

“Dreaming?”

John jumps in surprise and opens his eyes. Harry is hovering above him. How long has he been lying in the grass?

“I was just resting.” John says as he sits up.

“Sherlock’s not here?” She asks casually but John catches her wondering eyes.

“No.”

“I thought you two were inseparable now.” She mocks gently while sitting next to him. She’s wearing a swimming suit despite the late hour, and John notices her already tanned skin. This holiday is really doing good for her.

“We’re not inseparable.” John mutters, closing his eyes again.

“Fine, you’re not.” She pauses, “Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” John answers honestly. He hasn’t seen him since yesterday. “Why?”

“Don’t know,” she shrugs, but John can tell she’s not finished. “It’s just that I have a bad feeling about him.” She finally says and John has to look at her again, if not to laugh.

“A bad feeling? About Sherlock?”

“Don’t you think he’s weird? With all this nonsense he always talks about?”

“It isn’t nonsense,” John responds, maybe too bitterly, “And Sherlock is not weird.”

“Alright, maybe not weird, but there’s something about him that makes me uncomfortable.”

She remains silent, her fingers playing with the grass and John waits. He understands why people don’t get along with Sherlock. He lacks every social skill, and clearly doesn’t try to please anyone but himself. But he’s also so very clever and passionate about anything he does. He might be strange, yes, but in a good way, an interesting way. John can’t wait to discover all this man has to offer to the world.

“It’s just his eyes, some days I think I can see…” She stops again, “Nevermind.”

“What?”

“Nothing, forget about it.” She smiles at him, “I’m glad you’re finally enjoying your holiday.”

John opens his mouth to reply, to assure her he was enjoying his time here from the very start but a yell startles them both.

“John!”

“Here he comes,” Harry laughs as she stands up. “Enjoy whatever it is you’re doing together.”

“Harry,” he calls but she shakes her head, walking away. Just as she disappears into the swimming pool, Sherlock appears beside him.

“I was looking for you.” He declares and John stands up.

“You were?”

“Yes, I need your help.”

“Another deer?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes but John also catches him smiling, “No deer this time. Much more interesting actually! Get your things, we’re going out!”

“Out?” John inquires as they walk back to the main house.

“Yes, for dinner, so make sure to bring your wallet.”

John frowns, _dinner?_

“We’re going out for dinner?”

“You know I hate repeating myself, John.”

“Yes, right. Give me a sec’”

He climbs the stairs to his room and gathers what he needs before heading back downstairs. Now is not the time to start worrying over anything Sherlock’s words might or might not mean. It’s only dinner. With Sherlock. He probably doesn’t even know the implication behind his proposition. Besides, John hasn’t been outside of the house since he arrived, or only for grocery shopping. It could be nice to go out for the evening.

“John, hurry up.”

“Coming!”

Sherlock is already outside, walking to the portal and John hurries to join him. The sun is already setting and the sky is beginning to turn some kind of orange, mixed with a light pink. John is not sure he will ever get used to the sunset here, just above the mountains. He often sits in the garden, watching the colours of the sky change and thinks about the time he spent doing the exact same thing in the Afghan desert.

“John, get in.”

Sherlock’s voice brings him back to earth, and John can’t help but smile as he watches Sherlock get into the driver's seat of a very nice car.

“You know how to drive?” he asks, his smile growing wider as Sherlock rolls his eyes at him.

“Of course I know how to drive. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Don’t know,” John answers honestly. Somehow he had thought Sherlock was the kind of person who likes to be driven to places. “Where are we going?”

“Biarritz.”

“The name rings a bell,” John says while buckling his seatbelt.

“It is one of the most visited cities in the region.” Sherlock explains, “Not sure why if you ask me.”

“Not a fan of big cities?” John asks, glad to realise Sherlock is in the mood to talk. He likes their silences, even relies on them sometimes, but John plans to take advantage of tonight. Even after a week of talking with him, John has no idea what Sherlock does for a living, or even where he lives.

“No, it’s just this one in particular. Especially in the middle of July.”

“So,” John continues, “you like big cities?”

“Isn’t that what I’ve just said?” Sherlock sighs, but John is beginning to know when he’s really annoyed or just playing it, “I live in London, I have to like it.”

“London?” John smiles, “That’s where I’m staying too. I’d like to find a place there for myself actually.”

“I know.” Sherlock answers and John shakes his head as he looks back at the road.

“Of course you do.” He settles more comfortably in his seat and waits for Sherlock’s deductions. “Go on, tell me how.”

“It’s easy, really.”

John smiles and listens, enjoying the way Sherlock beams when he comments on his deductions. They spend the rest of the 45 minute ride recalling the places they like the most in London, the other cities they’ve visited, and when they park, John is starting to hope he might just find a way to keep seeing Sherlock back home.

The place Sherlock has chosen is the typical stereotype of a beach restaurant. Not too many tables, beach related decorations and warm lighting. John can’t help but notice that all the tables are already taken and he wonders for a moment if Sherlock made a reservation. Just as he’s about to ask, a thin but tall man comes to greet them, arms open and a wide smile on his lips.

“Sherlock! Je suis content de te voir!” ( _Sherlock! So nice to see you!_ )

“Bonsoir François.” Sherlock responds in a perfect french and John hopes he won’t spend the entire evening listening to some conversation he can’t even understand.

“Ta table est libre, comme d’habitude,” the man continues before glancing at John, “Oh, un petit diner romantique?” ( _Your table is free, as usual. // Oh, a romantic dinner?_ )

Well, John doesn’t need a translator to get that last word.

“Le travail François, le travail,” Sherlock answers and John really wishes he knew how to speak french, “J’ai besoin de voir la salle ce soir.”( _Work, François, work. // I need to see the entire restaurant tonight._ )

“Pas de problème, suivez-moi.” ( _Not a problem, follow me_ )

François leads them to the only free table, just in a corner and Sherlock goes to sit, his eyes already scanning the entire restaurant. John takes his own seat, unfolding his napkin and waits for Sherlock to finish whatever he’s doing.

“Le menu.” François announces as he hands them the menu but Sherlock only waves at him.

“We’re not here to eat.” He explains.

“We’re not?” John asks, looking at the different selections anyway.

“Well, if you must, you can order something,” Sherlock sighs, still not looking at him, “but we have more important things to do.”

“Such as?” John inquires as he tries to understand what he’s reading.

“You’ll see.”

John raises an eyebrow but Sherlock doesn’t even glance at him. Putting the menu back on the table, John takes his glass of water and turns around, trying to guess what Sherlock is looking for.

“We can’t both stare!” Sherlock hisses, and John turns back quickly.

“Stare at what?”

“Our suspect.” Sherlock replies and John almost spits out his water

“Our suspect?!”

“Oh god,” Sherlock sighs again but this time focuses back on him, “Yes, the man sitting at table 13 is going to commit a murder tonight.”

If Sherlock wasn’t looking so serious, John would have burst out laughing. “You mean this man is a murderer?

“Well, technically, not yet. But very soon, he could be.”

“I’m a bit lost right now,” John smiles, trying not to act like a complete idiot. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve been following him.”

John inhales deeply, “Following him?”

“Yes, John, following him. When he goes to buy his groceries, when he eats, when he takes a walk on the beach, at night, in the morning, at lunch…”

“Alright, that doesn’t make any sense, you know that.” Sherlock doesn’t move or speak, and John hurries to add, “I mean, why are you doing this?”

“That’s what I do.” Sherlock simply answers, his eyes darting down at his plate for a second before looking back at John, “I’m a consulting detective. Only one in the world.”

“I see. You work with the police then?”

“No, the police are idiots. I worked with them once or twice, but that was a long time ago.”

“But you still follow murderers on their holiday?” John smiles, having no difficulties imagining Sherlock doing just so. He should have thought of this earlier. This was a very clever way of using his deductions.

“This man lives here.” Sherlock corrects, already looking back at the said man.

“So tell me, who is he going to murder? And how could you be sure?”

Sherlock smiles, glancing at him for a second and John knows he just passed a test. Well, maybe not a test, but tonight is Sherlock’s way of revealing a bit more about himself to see how John would react.

“I saw him three days ago when I went to buy some cigarettes. He was with the same date he’s with tonight. They were walking towards me and our suspect caught the way an older woman looked at them. For a moment there, his whole face showed the shame he felt walking side by side with another man. He looked at his friend with such hate, it wouldn’t take an idiot to know this man would do anything to keep his secret.”

“You mean that he’s going to kill his date because it’s a man?”

“He still lives with his mother who expects lots of grandchildren and always sets him up with potential girlfriends. He would die before disappointing her. He’s never acted on his feelings before, but his date tonight is the first man that could ruin everything. If I’m right, and I am, he will sleep with him tonight, and after realising what he’s done, will kill him. Just to be sure.” Sherlock pauses, looking back at John, “Some people do strange things to hide their sexuality.”

“I know.”

“Right, your sister.”

John nods, “Yes.” He looks back at his menu.

“Oh.” Sherlock breathes out. “You too.”

John inhales slowly. It was doomed to happen anyway, Sherlock had to notice at some point.

“You had to find a way to hide your preference during the army.” Sherlock begins, almost in a whisper. “You didn’t want them to know so you could blend in, make sure you’d earn the respect of all your men.”

“Soldiers can be cruel.” John says. He doesn’t want to talk about it. “That was extraordinary. I can see why you chose to make it your job.”

For a moment, John fears Sherlock will continue to deduce his time in the army, but he looks back at his suspect, “We need to stop him.”

“We?”

Sherlock smiles again, “Well, I can use some help.”

“Good thing I’m here then.” John smirks and he picks back up his menu. “I think I’ll eat anyway, we can be here a long time.”

“Hum.”

John looks at the different dishes before sighing again, “I don’t understand a single thing.”

“Take the Canard, it’s their specialty.”

John nods, biting his lip. Sherlock is still staring at their suspect, fingers playing with his fork absently. John has never seen him like this, even when he explained his experiment. Sherlock is in his element here, John realises. That’s something he likes, truly.

“Clearly, you have questions.” Sherlock suddenly declares, looking back at him.

“How long have you been doing this?”

“I don’t know, it was never something regular.”

“That’s too bad,” John smiles, “You could help lots of people.”

Sherlock shrugs, waving for the waiter, “I don’t mingle with people.”

“Un magré de canard,” Sherlock orders, “et du vin, Bordeaux.”

“Tout de suite,” the waiter smiles before walking away.

“So,” John continues, “does that mean you don’t have a girlfriend then?”

Sherlock frowns at him, remaining silent and John adds quickly, “or a boyfriend?”

“No,” Sherlock replies, looking back behind John.

The waiter chooses this moment to bring his plate, and John begins to eat without another word. The question had been tempting him for days now, and he can’t but wonder if he should have stayed quiet. He could have asked Violet about it, but then she would have asked her own questions.

“They’re leaving,” Sherlock suddenly declares, standing up, “come!”

John barely has the time to finish his plate before they’re out, following a few steps behind the couple. Their suspect’s date is reaching for his hand and John holds his breath, waiting for any possible reaction. But they enter the next building just as their fingers intertwine.

“Now what?” John asks when they disappear inside the apartment.

“We wait.” Sherlock says, lighting up a cigarette.

“You said he would kill him after they have sex,” John continues, “We won’t be of any help outside.”

“They’re not even in the bedroom by now,” Sherlock explains, “and won’t move there for another twenty minutes.”

“How can you know that?”

“I’ve deduced it,” Sherlock smiles.

“Of course, and how did you-”

“Sherlock!” A voice interrupts them and John watches as a young boy approaches, “Ca faisait longtemps!” ( _Sherlock! It’s been while!_ )

“Dégage,” Sherlock snarls. John is trying to understand what’s happening. ( _Go away_ )

“J’en ai de la pure, un trip d’enfer, promis.” The boy continues, now standing before Sherlock, “J’te fais un prix.” ( _I have some good one, pure, you won’t regret it. // Special price for you_

“J’ai dit, dégage!” ( _I said, go away!_ )

“Ok, ok. Tu sais où me trouver.” ( _Alright, you know where to find me_ )

The boy glances at John, winking before walking away.

“What did he want?”

“Nothing important.” Sherlock murmurs, looking back at the apartment.

“Looked like an addict if you ask me.”

Sherlock glances at him, something sad in his eyes but John doesn’t have the time to ask what’s wrong, a scream echoing in one of the apartments.

“Come on!” Sherlock says as he runs for the entrance, climbing the stairs quickly and opening the door.

John barely has the time to ask where he got the key when their suspect appears before them, a knife in his hand.

“Who are you?” He asks, voice trembling.

“We’re here to help you,” John replies carefully, Sherlock already walking towards the man.

“What are you doing in my flat? Get out!”

Just as Sherlock is about to reach him, the man runs for the other room. John doesn’t wait another second, following the man with Sherlock right behind him. Another scream resonates in the flat and John increases his speed, nearly bumping into the coffee table.

“Please, help me.”

Their suspect is hovering above his date when they arrive, knife in the air. “You don’t understand, I have to.” He cries, his hand shaking.

“No, you don’t,” John says calmly.

“Put the knife down,” Sherlock adds.

“I can’t.”

In less than a second John has him tackled to the floor, the knife dropping next to him and Sherlock already kneeling by his side.

“We need to call the police” John pants, securing the suspect’s hands behind his back.

“Must we?” Sherlock asks, and John can’t help but laugh.

“Yes, we must.”

The french police arrive in less than ten minutes, taking the suspect out of the flat as an officer takes their deposition. Sherlock handles it, the man not bothering to speak English after John made it clear he didn’t understand a single thing he was asking.

“Come on, John, let’s go home.” Sherlock suddenly announces and it seems clear that the officer wasn’t finished.

“Sherlock?” John tries to call him back, smiling awkwardly at the man but Sherlock is already out of the flat.

“Hm, désolé,” he apologizes, nodding at the rest of the policemen in the room before catching up with Sherlock.

“What was that?” he asks, following him back to the restaurant, where they left the car.

“They were asking stupid questions.” Sherlock mocks, “They can figure out the rest by themselves.”

John laughs, the fresh air helping to calm his still pounding heart, “That was careless, and bloody dangerous.”

“I know,” Sherlock smiles and John’s laughter resonates in the quiet street again.

 

~~

The house is quiet when they get back, all the lights turned off as Sherlock unlocks the front door for John.

“It was a good evening,” John smiles, not yet entering the house. “Despite the near murder.”

Sherlock smiles, “Yes, it was.” He fidgets with his keys, looking around the garden before glancing back at John, “maybe tomorrow I could show you the experiment I’m working on.”

“Yes, that would be great.”

“I’ll get you before lunch,” Sherlock says, nodding at him, “Goodnight, John.”

“Goodnight.”

John waits until Sherlock disappears behind some trees before closing the door behind him. He climbs the stairs quickly, removing his vest as he unlocks his door and nearly has a heart attack when he sees Mycroft sitting on his bed.

“What the fuck!”

“John, good evening.”

“What are you doing in my room?”

“What is the exact nature of your relationship with my brother, John?”

“Wha-” John inhales deeply, “Why do you care?”

“Please, answer the question.”

“It is none of your business.” John replies harshly, hoping Mycroft will understand that he’s not welcome here.

“Trust me, it is.” He stands up, walking past John to the door. “Tell me, John, did Sherlock tell you about the drugs?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I took advantage of being on Holiday to finish this story, and I hope you'll all like it :)

John wakes up wondering where he is. He rolls under the covers and peeks at the window facing him. The sun is just starting to rise, and he only needs to close his eyes again to remember the night before. Sherlock, stunning, brilliant, beautiful. John represses a smile, sighing. He’s starting to accept the simple fact that Sherlock Holmes had caught his attention from the moment he had seen him, and that the warmth spreading throughout his chest just thinking about the man is a clear sign of the feelings he’s developing. John knows what being in love feels like, and he’s showing all the symptoms.

Sighing again, John shifts and turns to his back. He stares at the ceiling for several minutes. He remembers Mycroft now, his words, his serious face and the silent warning he had given him before leaving. _It is only a matter of time before my dear brother falls back into his old habits, Doctor Watson._ John feels the same knot forming in his stomach as the night before, trying not to run to Sherlock and demand an explanation. He is glad he waited. Last night had been special, something had shifted between them, and John is desperate to keep things this way. He wants to discover all there is to know about Sherlock, and even more.

“John,” Harry’s voice sounds from behind the door, “You’re awake?”

“What is it?” He answers, sitting up and reaching for his shirt.

“I’m going with some other guests to visit Biarritz today, you want to come?”

John thinks of the city he had seen just the day before, Sherlock walking through it as if he owned the street. “I’m fine, you go.”

He hears her sigh, “You know, you’ll have to get out of this house at some point and actually enjoy your holiday!”

John wants to tell her he’s got all he needs right here, but he only replies, “I’m enjoying it. Now go.”

She hovers behind the door for another second before she leaves. John doesn’t wait another minute, and gets to his feet. Sherlock had offered to show him some of his experiments, and John intends to take him up on his offer, now. He takes a quick shower, puts on a shirt and shorts and heads out. The house is still silent at this time of the day, and he grabs his keys before going outside. Sherlock’s house is not far, and he’s at the door quickly. He hesitates to knock, not wanting to wake anyone who might be inside but just as he’s about to take out his phone and call Sherlock, the door opens on Bernard.

“Oh, John,” he smiles, “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” John replies warmly.

“Come for Sherlock?”

John nods, and Bernard’s smile grows wider, “He’s in his room and awake judging by all the noises he’s making.”

Bernard tells him where to find Sherlock’s room and John thanks him, waiting until he’s gone before taking a deep breath and heading upstairs. He can hear it now, the sound of books being thrown on the floor, and he can’t help but smile again. No matter what Mycroft told him last night. The Sherlock Holmes John had learned to know and even love is not a drug addict. Not anymore.

Stopping in front of the door, John inhales deeply before knocking three times. The noises stop, then Sherlock’s footsteps cross the room and the door opens. “Ah John, I was just think-“ He trails off, his eyes scanning John’s face, and John suddenly fears what he might read there. “Mycroft told you.”

“He c-“

Sherlock stops him, “You can go.”

John frowns and puts his hands up, stopping Sherlock as he’s about to close the door. “Wait, what are y-“

“I said you can go, John.” Sherlock sighs and turns his back to him. “You don’t need to stay with me. Not now that you know why I’m here.”

John shakes his head, knowing now when Sherlock is trying to avoid a conversation. He isn’t going to let him go without a fight. “I don’t want to go.” At least, this gets Sherlock’s attention and he glances back at him, frowning. “I’m perfectly fine here,” John continues, “If your offer still stands?”

“My offer?”

John smiles, stepping in into the room, “To show me your experiments.”

“Oh.” Sherlock stares at him for a long moment. “You don’t mind?”

John knows exactly what he’s talking about. “Is it still an issue?” he asks, staring back.

Sherlock shakes his head, now fully turned toward him again. They remain silent for several minutes, or maybe seconds, John can’t tell. But it’s a comfortable silence, one that says much more than words, and John knows he somehow managed to surprise Sherlock again. “So, what about this experiment?”

The atmosphere shifts in the room, and suddenly Sherlock starts to explain some very complicated facts about bees and trees, and John tries his best to follow. He looks at the books Sherlock throws at him, he smiles when Sherlock stops mid-sentence and stays silent for very long stretches, and laughs when he changes subjects entirely afterward. By the time John thinks about checking the time, he’s been in Sherlock’s room for three hours. He’s now sitting on the bed, his back against the wall, different papers and books strewn around him, and he’s watching as Sherlock tries to demonstrate how bees manage to always find their way back to their hives.

John is fascinated.

“You’re tired,” Sherlock suddenly declares and John realises he has closed his eyes, only listening to Sherlock’s voice. He quickly shakes his head, focusing his eyes back on the man in front of him and clearing his throat, “Sorry.”

Sherlock waves it off, looking around the room for a long second before saying, “I was thinking we could go to the forest so I could show you some of the hives I’m studying.” He glances at John before averting his eyes. “But we don’t have to.”

“That’ll be great,” John smiles. Sherlock is offering to spend the entire day together, and John couldn’t have hoped for better. Last night already seemed like a dream, and after Mycroft’s warning, John had feared it would remain just that.

Sherlock looks back at him, almost beaming, and John has to hide his own joy. He can’t let Sherlock read on his face what he’s thinking right now. John knows too well what this brilliant man could deduce with just one look.

“If you’re hungry we can stop for some sandwiches,” Sherlock says, already throwing some affairs in a large bag, “I’m sure my mother has everything made already.”

John checks his watch, and asks, “Will you eat?”

He sees Sherlock hesitate. “Probably not,” he replies, eyes fixed on John as if he is expecting some kind of reproach. John only nods, promising himself he’ll find a way to make Sherlock eat tonight. Sherlock’s smile grows wider and he’s already at the door when John is only getting to his feet. “Hurry up,” Sherlock calls, opening the door and storming out.

John rolls his eyes and follows.

As Sherlock has predicted, some sandwiches are already waiting for them in the kitchen, and they don’t see anyone on their way to the woods. Sherlock is still explaining some of the experiment results to him, and John bites into his food while listening with attention. He tries to follow Sherlock’s explanation as much as he can, and discovers that Sherlock actually likes being questioned. Twice he stops walking, staring into the void for several seconds before looking at him as if he holds all the answers. John wishes nothing more but to have Sherlock look at him like that for the rest of his life.

Pushing the thoughts away, John represses the urge to brush the leaves that have fallen on Sherlock’s shoulders and hair. He wonders what the curls would feel like under his hands, his fingers threading through them softly.

“John,” Sherlock says, bringing him back to reality, “You’re not listening.”

“Sorry,” John apologizes quickly, and looks down at the ground, “Keep going.”

He hears more than he sees Sherlock chuckle softly before saying, “We’re here.”

John looks up, taking in the different hives around him but his eyes are automatically drawn back to Sherlock’s form next to him. He tries not to stare, and he’s certain he’s failing, but Sherlock is already lost into some more explanations. John’s eyes find his lips, thin and slightly pink, the cupid bow so very tempting. John licks his own lips, imagining tracing Sherlock’s instead. The upper one first, teasing them open before sucking the lower one between his own. John feels the first sign of arousal low in his abdomen, and it takes him another second to realise Sherlock has stopped talking.

He looks up quickly and find Sherlock’s eyes fixed on his. Before John can think of a plausible explanation for his starring, Sherlock speaks, his voice barely a whisper. “You’re not listening again.”

John can’t seem to find the force to apologize this time and Sherlock takes a step closer to him. They both stop to breathe entirely as John closes the remaining distance, their faces merely inches apart. John is certain his heartbeat is echoing in the entire forest. Sherlock’s eyes flutter closed and John rises himself on his tip-toes, and-

“Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes!”

They both back up at the same time, John too afraid to look at Sherlock.

Archie’s voice comes again, “Mr. Holmes, I’ve caught a mouse!”

Sherlock clears his throat next to him, and John lets out a shaky breath. He had almost kissed him, had been about to just seconds ago, and now he can’t seem to even glance at him.

“That’s marvellous, Archie,” Sherlock says, and John is certain he can hear something off in his voice. “Let’s go have a look!”

Archie is now standing in front of them, “Hi John!”

John smiles, “Hello Archie, our trap worked then.”

Archie nods several times, “Yes! Come with us!”

John is about to reply when Sherlock cuts in, “I’m certain John has more important things to do, Archie. You can tell him about it tonight at diner.”

Archie seems to be considering this option for a while before nodding again and reaching for Sherlock’s hand, pulling him towards the house again. John remains still, heart pounding and a knot forming in his stomach. Did Sherlock just push him away?

~ ~

John doesn’t see Sherlock for the rest of the day. He had wandered through the woods for another hour, trying to calm his beating heart and come to a reasonable explanation for Sherlock’s behaviour. But still now, as he lies on his bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, John can’t help but wonder if their almost kiss had threatened their entire friendship. He hadn’t meant to stare, hadn’t meant to let it all show so quickly. Yes, he is possibly in love with Sherlock, and yes, it all seems quite insane after just two weeks of knowing each other, but the mere thought of never speaking to him again makes John’s chest ache.

He closes his eyes, the memory of Sherlock’s bed coming back to him, and John finds himself wishing he had fallen asleep there. They would have never gone to the woods and he would have never ruined everything. He could still be with Sherlock and trying to decide how to make his sentiment known to him.

John sighs, “Stop.”

He’s a grown man, a soldier for god’s sake. He has fought and almost died in the bloody desert. But he’s here now, and falling in love with the most brilliant, mad, breath-taking man he has ever met. He isn’t going to back away now. He will find Sherlock again tomorrow, no matter how long it takes, and he’s going to fix this, one way or another.

Inhaling deeply, John gets to his feet and heads out of his room. Night has fallen for almost four hours now, and the house is quiet as he walks outside. Violet had shown him a few days ago where they kept the spare key for the pool, and John had been waiting for an opportunity to go alone since they arrived. Surely no one would be swimming at his hour. He unlocks the door to the pool and changes into his swimming shorts quickly. His eyes automatically avoid the damaged skin around his shoulder in the mirror, and he enters the water slowly. The water is warm, warmer than he had expected, and he sinks to the bottom of the pool, silence surrounding him.

John stays for as long as he can before floating back up for some air. Only the sound of the water echoes around him. John can’t remember the last time he has felt this relaxed, which is why he shouts in surprise when another voice comes from his right, “It took three different operations to remove the bullet entirely.”

“Fuck, Sherlock!”

He turns toward Sherlock, and sees his eyes fixed on his scar. John ducks his shoulders under the water. It takes another second for John to truly discern Sherlock’s shadow in the darkness, but then it seems as if he can only see his focused stare.

“One of your friends operated on you,” Sherlock continues, “He tried to control the damage but the bullet was too deep, too shattered inside you.”

“How long have you been here?” John asks, not wanting to talk about this now.

“A long time,” Sherlock replies.

Silence falls upon them. Sherlock is still standing by the pool, and John shivers despite the warm water. He thinks back on the way Sherlock had looked in the woods, their bodies pressed together, and he quickly looks away.

“You wanted to kiss me,” Sherlock says, and John has to repress a stressed laugh. Sherlock doesn’t wait for an answer. “You’ve been thinking about it for quite some time now.”

John swallows with difficulty, “Right,” he breathes out, “as always.”

This makes Sherlock frown. “Why?”

John holds his stare for a long moment before saying, “Why do I want to kiss you?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, “Obviously, yes.”

John smiles, “Can’t you deduce it?”

Sherlock steps closer, standing just by the pool and he holds John’s eyes. John shivers again. “No,” he whispers, “No, I can’t.”

Something clenches inside John’s chest and he rises to his feet again, not caring anymore for what Sherlock can or can’t see. “I want to kiss you because I’ve never met anyone like you before. I want to kiss you because you are brilliant and mad and incredible. I want to kiss you because it’s driving me crazy just thinking about it. I want to kiss you because I can’t think of another way to tell you.”

Sherlock exhales loudly, “Tell me what?”

John considers his next words carefully, “Tell you how much I care, about you, about this.”

Sherlock walks away and John fears he has just made it worse, but then Sherlock is stepping into the pool. “Sherlock, your clothes!”. Sherlock merely waves it off and doesn’t stop until he’s facing him. John waits, for something, anything.

“No one has ever cared before,” Sherlock says, his voice a whisper again.

“I do,” John replies, fingers itching to reach out, to touch.

“Why?” Sherlock asks again, and John smiles.

He steps closer, his naked chest brushing Sherlock’s still clothed one. “Why don’t I show you?” He feels Sherlock’s breath against his lips as he breathes out, and John nudges their noses together, not quite touching yet. Sherlock isn’t moving, both arms resting along his sides, and John desperately needs him to understand how important this moment is. “Can I?” He asks, certain Sherlock can feel his lips moving against his mouth, yet, he doesn’t stir at all. John starts to fear he’s gone too far, asked too much all of the sudden, and he pulls away. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s eyes find his, and the vulnerability John sees in them makes his breath catch. It might be hours or just seconds before Sherlock finally says, “Show me.”

John waits for another second, searching for the approval in Sherlock’s face and finds it when the man reaches for his hand, lacing their fingers together. John goes as slowly as he can, brushing his mouth against Sherlock’s before pulling away again, just an inch. Sherlock has closed his eyes and John feels him sigh. Smiling, he seals their lips again, this time lingering a bit longer, playing with Sherlock’s lower lip before resting his forehead against his. John realises he’s on his tip-toes again, and a light giggle escapes him.

“What is it?” Sherlock asks in a murmur.

“Nothing,” John replies, already kissing him again. There are words on the tip of his tongue, but even John knows it would be too much to let them out now. For the moment he’s got Sherlock’s lips against his own, parting slightly between John’s tongue, and that’s already more than John had ever wished for. The moment their tongues meet inside Sherlock’s mouth, John feels him melt against him and he slides both arms around his waist, keeping him close. Sherlock all but surrenders in his embrace, his fingers coming to grip at his shoulders, and John smiles into the kiss.

“John,” Sherlock pants when they part, and it doesn’t take a genius to realise this might be Sherlock’s very first kiss. John feels his chest tighten, and he kisses the corner of Sherlock’s lips, his cheeks, his nose. “Show me again.”

John laughs, pressing their bodies even closer as he captures Sherlock’s lips again. He doesn’t have the time to tease them open before Sherlock is sliding his tongue against his. John should have known he would be a quick learner. The next time they part, they’re both panting, Sherlock’s chest rising heavily against his own, and John feels like his heart might explode inside his chest. He hasn’t felt like this since he was a teenager, but somehow, it doesn’t scare him. Not at all.

“I think I understand now,” Sherlock says, sounding much too serious and pulling away from him. “Close proximity tends to insure the development of strong feeling towards someone. Adding the fact that I cured your limp and managed to entertain you during holidays you didn’t want to come to in the first place, it is a logical response.”

John remains speechless for one, two, three seconds before pulling Sherlock’s body against him again, one hand under his chin, making sure this stupidly beautiful man in front of him can read it all on his face, “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” Sherlock frowns and John kisses him quickly, enjoying the way Sherlock’s entire body seems to shudder in his arms. “I did this because I’ve been wanting to for a very long time. Yes, you fixed my limp, and yes I didn’t want to come here in the first place, but you changed everything the very moment you climbed through my window.” Sherlock is about to reply, but John stops him with another, longer, kiss. “I’m a grown man, Sherlock. I know what I want and right now, I want you.”

“You say that now,” Sherlock sighs but this time doesn’t pull away, “But you know what I am, what I’ve done, what I might do again.”

“I know, yes. But if you let me, I’ll be here to stop you from falling back into any addictions you might have. I’ve done it before, and for you, I’ll gladly do it all over again.”

Sherlock remains silent for a long moment, his eyes traveling all over his face, and John lets him deduce all he needs to know. “You can’t be certain,” he finally says. “You’ve been here two weeks, John.”

“Are you certain?” John asks, trying a new approach and hoping he won’t make a fool of himself.

“What?”

“Are you certain? About this? About me?”

This seems to make Sherlock freeze, and he’s almost smiling as he replies, “Of course.”

John gives in and kisses him again, for several seconds. Sherlock is already melting in his arms again, and John wonders when he got so lucky. “Then trust me when I say I’m certain too.”

Sherlock stares at him, smiles, and kisses him.


	5. Chapter 5

John turns off the light and wonders again why he had told Sherlock they should both go get a shower. Separately. He’s aware he would have been asking too much, but still, John couldn’t help but hope they could have at least slept in the same bed tonight. They had said goodbye only fifteen minutes ago, and he is already missing Sherlock’s lips, Sherlock’s taste, Sherlock’s body against his own. It’s ridiculous, really, but John realises he doesn’t care. He’s in love, and Sherlock might just share his feelings, and for now, it’s all that matters.

Sighing, he rolls to his side and closes his eyes. He should sleep. At least the morning will come sooner that way. _Christ, I sound like a bloody teenager_. He lets out another sigh, wondering if it would be alright to go see Sherlock first thing in the morning again. John’s eyes snap open as a wave of panic rolls over him. What if Sherlock has reconsidered everything by tomorrow. What if he has decided John is actually not worth his attention and pushes him away. What if-

The sound of his window opening makes John jump under the covers and he’s turning the lights on again, his entire body on alert.

“I need you to show me again,” Sherlock says as soon as he’s inside the room.

John bursts into laughter, the worries that had threatened to overwhelm him fading, and he  sits up on the bed. “You broke into my room, again.”

Sherlock shrugs, walking to the bed and stopping at the foot. “You didn’t seem to mind that much the first time.”

John shakes his head, “I didn’t.” Sherlock smiles and John pushes the covers away, nodding toward the empty space next to him, and Sherlock doesn’t wait another second before joining him. They remain still.

“So,” John smiles and he hears Sherlock sigh before he’s lying down, rolling to his side and forcing John to do the same. They stare at each other for a long moment, shifting closer inch by inch, and soon John can feel Sherlock’s breath against his lips again. He’s surprised to realise he has actually missed it. “What did you want me to show you again?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes and John can’t help but laugh again, the sound soon captured between Sherlock’s lips. He isn’t sure how long they remain like this, close and kissing, but Sherlock’s scent is surrounding him and the last thing John thinks before falling asleep is _Sherlock._

~ ~

He wakes up in the middle of the night, panting. Sherlock’s back is pressed against his chest, and John has his nose buried in the soft curls in front of him. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, only kissing Sherlock for what seemed like hours.

‘You’re aroused,” Sherlock says, startling him, and John is suddenly painfully aware of his erection.

“Sorry,” he replies, rolling to his back. Sherlock follows quickly, turning to face him. “I didn’t meant to-“

“I don’t mind,” Sherlock cuts in.

John looks back at him, rolling to his side so they can be properly facing each other. “Sherlock,” he says softly, “that was your first kiss.”

“So what?” Sherlock asks, shrugging again.

“So you’re entitled to be nervous about this, you know,” John says, trailing his fingers up and down Sherlock’s side. He feel him shiver, but Sherlock remains silent. “Why don’t you go back to sleep,” John smiles, kissing him for a long second, “We can talk about this another time.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Sherlock says, but he’s already closing his eyes. John’s smile widens and he shifts even closer, his erection having faded away now. Sherlock welcomes him in his arms with a content sigh, and this time John waits until he’s certain Sherlock is fully asleep before letting himself go.

~ ~

John wakes up with Sherlock’s body pressed against his for the first time the very next morning, and he realises he doesn’t want to ever begin a new day another way ever again.

~ ~

Turns out Sherlock likes kissing. A lot.

He stops counting the number of times Sherlock backs him against a wall, door or tree to kiss him for several minutes. Not that he minds. He loves kissing Sherlock just as much, and they both use these stolen moments to explore more of each other.

John discovers that sucking at Sherlock’s pulse point makes him whimper and shiver in his arms, and he’s certain he will never get tired of hearing Sherlock pant his name every time he takes advantage of this new discovery.

Sherlock, of course, deduces all there is to know about John’s own reaction.  

John doesn’t think about complaining once.

~ ~

“You know,” Violet tells him one morning, as John is sitting on one of the benches in the garden, “the first time Mycroft told me about Sherlock’s addiction, I didn’t believe him. He had to take me to the hospital so I could realise my son was really in trouble. Somehow, Bernard wasn’t that surprised, but then, he always seems to anticipate everything.”

“How long?”

“His first overdose was two years ago,” Violet says, looking at the flowers in front of them. “A police officer found him.”

John closes his eyes, remembering the first time he found Harry unconscious in her living room.

“He’s had three more since, the last one five months ago.”

“I would never have imagined him like that,” John says, his voice just above a whisper.

Violet squeezes his knee for a second, forcing John to look at her and she smiles, “We rarely see the bad sides in the beginning.”

John looks away, feeling as if Violet’s eyes are reading right through him.

“It’s the first time we are trying to keep him here instead of some rehab center,” Violet continues, “He never lasts long in rehab anyway, and it usually takes a few weeks before he’s back using. It was Bernard’s idea, and it seems to be working, or Sherlock is very good at hiding it.”

“I don’t think he’s using,” John blurts out, realising he sounds rather defensive, but Violet’s smile only grows wider.

“I don’t think so too, and besides, Mycroft would have figure it out by now if he was.”

They both remain silent for a long moment, the sound of Violet’s guests waking up coming from the house, but she doesn’t leave. John wants to ask more, to know the exact circumstances of each of Sherlock’s overdoses, but he doesn’t say anything. Violet shouldn’t be the one telling him.

“I’m happy he found you, John.”

John smiles, “I’m lucky I found him.”

“Take care of my son,” she finally says, one hand on his knee.

~ ~

“John,” Sherlock pants, his back arching on the bed, “John, please.”

John takes a deep breath, resting his forehead against Sherlock’s collarbone. “Are you certain?”

He feels Sherlock nod, his fingers digging into his back, “Yes, yes.” He thrusts against him, brushing their still clothed erections together, and both of their moans echo in the room. “Please.

John looks up at him again and crashes their mouths together. They have been lying there for a very long time, exploring each other’s bodies slowly, and the aching need building inside him makes John whimper into the kiss. He can’t remember the last time he had wanted someone this much, craved for someone like this.

“John,” Sherlock moans, his hands sliding down his back and resting on his arse. “Come on.”

John smiles and continues to kiss him, his fingers working on Sherlock’s trousers. “Oh, god,” Sherlock pants as John closes one hand around Sherlock’s erection, stroking. “Encore, encore.” ( _More, more)_

A wave of arousal rushes through him and John stares down at Sherlock, “Fuck.”

“J’ai tellement envie de toi,” Sherlock continues, now smirking at John’s obvious reactions. “Je veux te toucher, te sentir contre moi.” ( _I want you so much. I want to touch you, to feel you against me)_

“God, Sherlock, your voice,” John pants, making a quick work of his own trousers and pants before taking them both in hand. “Oh fuck!”

They don’t last long but John thinks it’s perfect, absolutely brilliant, and when Sherlock cries out his name, spilling between their bodies, John only has to thrust one, two, three more times before his own orgasm overtakes him.

~ ~

Violet is the first to find out about them.

She walks into Sherlock’s room late one morning, certain she has seen her soon go out in the early morning, and stops in the middle of the room. Her eyes trail over the two bodies pressed together on the bed, Sherlock’s head resting on John’s chest and the duvet draped around both of their naked waists. She walks backward toward the door and closes it as silently as she can. Sherlock stirs next to him but doesn’t wake.

Of course, Sherlock realises she knows as soon as they head out to have breakfast, and John realises she’s all but beaming at the both of them. They don’t talk about it, but John can feel her eyes on him during the entire time they eat.

“Maman, arête de nous fixer comme ça.” _(mother, stop staring at us like this)_

John frowns and looks up at Sherlock.

“Je suis tellement heureuse, Sherlock.” Violet replies, and John knows exactly what they’re talking about when he sees Sherlock roll his eyes. “Tellement heurese.” _''I'm so happy, Sherlock. // So very happy)_

“On a compris,” Sherlock replies and he glances back at John, a small smile on his lips. Their feet brush under the table. _(We got it)_

Violet sighs happily, “Tellement heureuse.”

~ ~

It takes Harry another three days.

She finds John as he’s going to the kitchen, and looks at him for several seconds before saying, “You weren’t in your room this morning.”

John shakes his head, “I wasn’t.”

They don’t say more and as Harry is about to leave, he hears the smile in her voice as she says, “I’m happy for you, John.”

~ ~

John pushes inside Sherlock for the first time five days after the kiss at the swimming pool.

Sherlock’s legs are locked around his waist, and he’s staring up into John’s eyes, the worry and pure devotion in them making John shiver. He leans down to kiss him, sliding inside him slowly, and captures each and every sound coming out of Sherlock’s mouth.

Sherlock had confessed his nervousness two days ago, two of John’s fingers buried inside him, and the aching need for more taking over them both. John had made him come like that, murmuring words of adoration against his skin.

But now, as Sherlock arches against him, welcoming him inside his body more and more, John can’t hold back any longer, “I love you,” he whispers.

Sherlock smiles and gasps and cries out at John finally buried entirely inside him, “Je t’aime,” he pants between two kisses and John feels his heart pounding inside his chest. _(I love you)_

He doesn’t remember the last time he made love so slowly to anyone, and when Sherlock comes, crying out his name, John falls in love all over again.

~ ~

John has no idea what they’ll do once the holiday is over.

 _We’ll figure it out_ , he thinks as he watches Sherlock work on another experiment.

He has just found his home.


End file.
